


leave flowers for your lover

by charcoalscenes



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Body Modification, M/M, Other, Overprotective, Post-Canon, Romantic Fluff, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-28 18:47:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15055442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charcoalscenes/pseuds/charcoalscenes
Summary: "In all those past times, Astral had been near powerless to be anything more than the ghost who tried to guide him. But they are so much more now.They can be so much more now."•A few times Astral may have been too quick to use the Numeron Code for Yuma's convenience, and the one time they try not to.





	1. Chapter 1

Astral doesn’t feel the cold the way humans do, the way Yuma does. The year’s early months hit the two of them as they make their way back to Yuma’s house, both their hair and clothes blown back, and Yuma’s complaints are stifled by his own shivering. He underdressed. 

By now, Astral is used to the newfound powers that the Numeron Code gives them, but only in the sense of using them for Astral World. They have used them for surveying nearby planets, for building bridges between worlds, for providing stronger structures for their homeworld. Astral is used to watching over the universe, wherein Yuma and their friends and all of Earth is – practically speaking – only a small part of. 

But Yuma has always been much more than that to them, and for a moment, Astral considers what they could do: make it so that the two of them could live this morning all over again, before they had made the decision to date outside, and be the only one in the universe with the memory of the past few hours while Yuma the rest of the galaxy remains unaware of time reversing – just so Astral could encourage him all the more strongly to wear heavier layers of clothes before stepping outside. 

Astral doesn’t. Instead, they shuffle closer and wrap their arms tighter around him. Gradually, by the time the two of them reach the next street, the wind has softened. The chill is not gone completely, but finally, Yuma huffs out a relieved sigh. 

“I told you so,” is on the edge of Astral’s tongue, but they reign it in, knowing that Yuma’s reaction would only be indignation. 

“Finally.” Yuma says as he watches for the crosslight to change. “I can’t wait for Spring. It’s so unfair that you aren’t affected by this at all!” 

Ena had warned Astral about what they are still attempting, and it takes more self-control than they would readily admit to not grant Yuma’s indirectly spoken wish. Around them, the wind settles completely after the clouds move little more speedily than they had before to make way for the sun, the rays soaking into Astral and their human. The cold almost instantly stops bothering Yuma. 

He’s too busy hashing Astral out in envy (“Why do you even bother to dress warmly anyway?”) to notice his own growing comfort, and Astral stares ahead and leads him safely home, pretending that Yuma’s ignorance doesn’t still strike them as endearing even after all this time. 


	2. Chapter 2

They are obvious at other times, visibly reshaping their human form, all different versions of the same base so that they are always familiar to those who know them, but they leave themself room for creativity. Freckles one day, a different tone the next, hair styled normally, and later sheared on one side. 

Everyone else had been baffled by the habit at first, but quickly gotten used to it, granting Astral questions and compliments on their appearances. Yuma may be the last one to adjust so quickly to Astral’s changes. If Astral is honest, this is hardly anything to mind; his many expressions of surprise is something they’ve come to appreciate. 

“W-What are you trying to pull off this time!?”

Presently, Yuma is more flustered than usual, even more than the times Astral had teasingly worn certain accessories they knew Yuma would covet and ended up sharing with him. Astral decides to brush off the reaction. “You don’t like it?” They test. 

The wording and tone of the question works, and Yuma stammers, backpedalling with his response. “I– Why did you choose to be so tall, huh? How am I supposed to walk next to you?” Despite Yuma’s words, he comes closer, eyes squinting. “You look closer to my dad now then you do to me!” 

He claims the last part while pointing rather accusingly at Astral’s biceps, perhaps not as large as Kazuma’s but intentionally more defined, because they have seen the way Yuma’s eyes light up sometimes when focused on Alit’s bare arms, or even on the subtle shapes that Shark and Tetsuo bare. That familiar interest returns to Yuma’s expression now – past the pout and huffs he deigns to give Astral on the surface. 

Rather than say anything back, Astral steps forward and pulls Yuma close into a hug. He stammers and stumbles into it, all pink. He feels all the more smaller to them like this, and looks as much too, as though Astral can cover all of him up if they wanted to, if they chose to keep him here. 

When Astral speaks, they voice it like a question, “This feels nice,” knowing that Yuma wouldn’t lie in the face of a genuine endearment no matter how embarrassed he might feel. 

Yuma’s arms slide around them in answer, slow and hesitant, firm in his own right but feeling like the delicate stems of dainty flowers to Astral now, while they are in this shape. 

It may be as temporary or irregular as the other forms and glamours that Astral has shown. But for now, they lean over him to confess conspiratorially in his ear, eager for the reaction. “I’ve always liked being taller than you.” 


	3. Chapter 3

Over time, Astral has it down to a fine art of barely subtle gift-giving. Yuma usually wakes for school on time, but there are enough days wherein he runs late, and the morning traffic doesn’t help his situation either. Though in the two or three times he has overslept while Astral is on Earth, the traffic hasn’t been as difficult an obstacle for him. 

It should feel like more work than it does, but Astral finds they can do it with the same amount of effort as a mildly challenging duel; nudging enough changes so that certain walkways get a greenlight, or so that morning joggers and skaters and cars and even animals give enough leeway to a single individual just so he could get to homeroom on time. 

By the time it is Yuma’s birthday party, Astral almost forgets about Ena’s concerns, wanting to indulge the possibility that they can do this forever – that they can give Yuma these little unnoticed presents forever. 

“Do you wish it would snow?” They murmur to him in private, during a brief quiet moment from the rest of their friends. Spring is near, but despite Yuma’s complaints of cold weather and days trapped indoors rather than outside, he still preserves a gleeful fascination with snowfall– 

“That would be  _ so cool! _ Why do you ask?” 

–and Astral gives it to him. 

It is the first time after the final battle with Don Thousand that Astral lets Yuma know that they’re doing something like this for him, intentionally and with the power to make a universe bend –  _ for him _ . They say it to him alone, and he throws his arms around their neck and smiles brightly enough that Astral only has half the mind to keep the flurries coming, their boy’s happiness like a sun that would have melted away all of Astral’s efforts instantly. 

Yuma doesn’t tell anyone and Astral shares their gift with no one else either, but the emotional rush of what these abilities could afford the two of them makes it so Astral doesn’t notice how a few of their comrades begin to eye them suspiciously. 


	4. Chapter 4

Astral is only confronted weeks later, after their latest “miracle.” It was already observed that Yuma’s connection to Astral and the Key is what often makes him so hardy, both in casual situations and in combat. Though the protection this brings him is appreciated, his high threshold for pain often leads him to confront riskier situations with more recklessness than Astral and some of their comrades are comfortable with. 

Not that anyone can really stop him – unless Astral truly surrenders to an extreme measure. And just as Yuma has said once when it was brought up in seriousness: “Things always work out alright in the end, though, right?” It stands true in every mission the two have faced, and it thankfully stands true during more mundane antics and disasters as well, such as Yuma stumbling down a short flight of stairs while playing, and all the mild bruises and broken skin that resulted afterwards. 

Astral had been away from him at that moment, Yuma and some friends still closer to his school while Astral spent time with others outside. They felt it the moment it happened, though, noticing the higher level of pain Yuma experienced than he usually would – their clumsy boy often falling victim to small hits and falls. Though they made their way to Yuma quickly enough and found him simply surrounded by Kotori and a few others helping him to a nurse, Astral wonders if they themself could have just stopped time before the accident. 

The possibility of playing with time anyway is still in mind, but was put to the side in the face of Yuma’s sniffling calming down; he wasn’t badly hurt. 

But the aches that came with the incident remain days later, Yuma still sore and tender in all the areas where the stairs got him worst, and when Astral finds that they cannot even hug their boy as tightly as before or else he’d hurt all over again, they cave. 

It is not as though they’ve never seen Yuma bleed or cry before. It is not as if Yuma had never hurt himself before Astral’s eyes. But in all those past times, Astral had been near powerless to be anything more than the ghost who tried to guide him. But they are so much more now.  _ They can be so much  _ **_more_ ** _ now. _

And they are. Part of them knew, deep down, as soon as they saw Yuma’s blood run from his knee and the marks on his arms, that regardless of how trivial the wounds are, they would do this in the end – reverse this. 

It is enough for Kaito and Christopher’s shared lab to run hectic. Astral is aware that their two families monitor strange readings on Earth, but momentarily forgot to consider that their own activities – as opposed to another being’s – could raise any sort of alarm, or be misinterpreted by the pair as a sign of  _ danger _ . 

Astral confronts the two of them to ease their worries. There is something nagging in their dual looks of discomfort when Astral tells them what happened and why. 

It’s understandable, Astral supposes. Astral hadn’t told Yuma, hadn’t told anyone before this, though the young scientists had found out near instantaneously and got word to Astral on the findings. Astral knows all too well the struggles of realizing there are memories that have been taken away, of missing out on a larger picture and purpose regardless of whether or not they’ve been a part of it. 

They don’t hesitate to apologize. They only hesitate once Chris says, a note of a challenge in his voice, “Ensure that this doesn’t happen again without a better reason.” 

Experience has made Astral weary of their own anger. The best balance to their silent piques that they’ve come to recognize is Yuma, and for the moment, Yuma isn’t here, and the message that the humans before them gives reaches Astral alone. They allow the emotion to glide over them anyway, in a way that Ena had advised, and after a moment, they have the mind to reply. “I will do what is best, yes.” 

They turn and make to leave before they finish their sentence, and the pair of eyes that remain wearily on their back tell them that the duo recognize the vague statement for what it is. The two of them deserve much more reassurance – Astral knows this, but at the moment, they’re quietly too furious to give it. 

It is too frustrating that Ena was right, that she saw this coming. It is too disquieting that Astral knows they would feel the power to undo this moment at their fingertips too if they wish it. It is too rattling that certain thoughts reach Astral before they think to hold those back: that these humans are only here because of Astral’s past actions to bring them back into existence; how could Astral now be told to stop? 

“Stop.” Astral says it sharply, to no one but themself. Outside the Tenjo’s home, no one can hear them berating themself now. For now, they wander the city that’s become so familiar to them, the one that was at one point near ruins before the Code’s influence. Repeatedly, they repeat Ena’s advice, allowing the ire to wash over them, then let it go. 

But it’s not a job done once, and Astral continues to stroll in a humanlike guise surrounded by people, willing the noises to help drown out the mix of embarrassment and discontent, letting the resentments leave them about as well as an attempt to shut a bulky door by repeatedly slamming it against a crooked, mismatched frame. 


	5. Chapter 5

Ena had tried to preface her warnings with sentiments ad disclaimers like, “There’s no such thing as caring for someone too much.” Sometimes, that’s almost what it seems to feel like, but even if there is such a thing, Astral wouldn’t choose to stop. “That’s not what it’s about,” she said. “It’s about responsibility, and caution.” 

Not even Astral and their makers in their homeworld know the full effects of the Numeron Code in certain situations, including any scenario wherein time is played with too often, but there are theories. Flashbacks of other timelines, perhaps. A blend of timelines collapsing into one another. There were even whispers from others in their world that Eliphas wanted to protect Astral from hearing – that Astral themself may go mad with the Code’s power. As though they would ever let things get that far. 

They snap themself out of their reverie just as Yuma thinks to stare back at them with concern. “Hey, are you alright?” 

“Of course.” The bus ride is bumpy now that they’ve left city roads. By now, only a handful of passengers remain, most in gear similar to theirs and Yuma’s, loose and outdoorsy. Not all of them look like they plan on camping for the night, but it’s a bit comforting to see that the two of them will not be alone in the area. 

“You’ve looked a little preoccupied.” Yuma broaches. “You’re not worried, are you?” 

Astral answers. “Why would I be worried?” 

Immediately the bus stops – not too dramatically to signal that it’s crashed, but suddenly enough that Yuma’s weight is thrust forward so that his face slams against the back of the seat in front of him. 

“Gah!  _ What! _ ” He screeches, sounding more offended at the chair than hurt. Astral reaches a hand to swipe Yuma’s hair from his face to inspect for any damage, but he looks okay. “W-What happened?” Yuma continue to whine, voice slightly muffled and wheezy from the impact as well as his hand hovering over his face. 

The driver curses loudly. “I think it’s the tires.” He snaps at no one in particular before wrenching free from his seatbelt to exit the vehicle. The other passengers talk in worried tones within their own groups, and two even stand up as well to follow the driver outside to help. 

“Oh, geez.” Yuma huffs, standing up as well to get a better vantage point of the scene. “First it was the traffic and now the bus is broken. What a day, huh?” 

_ Karma _ . Astral shakes themself from the thought, but it doesn’t take away from the impression that the universe wants them to pay a little bit for the meddling that Ena and Chris seem to be so suspect of. Astral was barely able to stop themself from sulking during the morning traffic as is, and only ceded to the situation when Yuma pulled his Duel Pad out and shared his earbuds and music with them. From then on, the ride had slowly eased from feeling bad, Astral and Yuma taking turns at resting on one another’s shoulders and staring at the passing scenery out the window. 

“Whatever!” He sighs loudly. “We’ve been on our butts for a while. Wanna stretch outside a little?” 

Astral doesn’t feel muscle pain like humans do either, but they can hold that over his head and bait another cute reaction out of him another time. “Yes.” They answer, and follow him out the bus. 

One of the tires indeed suffered a sudden flat. The driver and a couple of the passengers are already working to replace it, taking a spare from a compartment near the storage for luggage. 

Yuma pipes up. “Do you guys need some help?” And the paranoia Astral has that the universe is plotting against them flares briefly at the potential for another accident. 

The others, however, decline, and Yuma doesn’t push it. He turns to Astral, and something in their face must be showing a hint of what they’re feeling, because Yuma blinks and asks, “Are you okay?” 

“I am preoccupied.” Astral deigns to answer his previous question, and smooths it over with, “The commute is rougher than expected.” 

“You’re telling me! We’ve been through worse, though, right?” Yuma smiles and eases Astral into a stroll, closer to the trees lining the path. “And it’ll be worth it! Promise! The view from where my dad and I stayed is incredible! And you’ll get to taste my cooking. I got better, I practiced more – you’ll see.” 

Astral isn’t sure if he’s lying about the food or if he truly believes he could have made such a magnificent improvement in such a short time, but the enthusiasm is enough to lighten some of their thoughts. They quietly shoot Yuma a dubious stare at his exclamations, and he snaps back. “I  _ did _ !” 

The two of them idle like this for a few moments more, talking more-or-less quietly to themselves and eyeing the efforts of the older company nearby. The wheel is successfully replaced just before the rain begins to fall. Astral frowns at the sky as the droplets splatter on their face while Yuma whines openly beside them. “… _ Man. _ ” 

Astral does consider the universe as alive, but only in a sense. They never entertained the thought of there being a grand entity constituted out of every other smaller living thing within it. But Astral is reconsidering the theory now, and wonders whether or not it’s reasonable to imagine fighting such a thing. 

“Let’s get inside, Astral!” Yuma scurries in, the other humans close to follow. Astral enters last, not minding the slightly damp cloth covering them. They’re not the one who would become ill from such a thing, after all. “Do you need tissue?” Yuma asks anyway once they near their seats, and pulls some out of his bag before Astral answers. 

“There’s no need.” They say a bit too late, Yuma swiping one across their forehead first, then over their hair. They grow silent at that, feeling themself soften, even as Yuma pauses. 

“Oh– yeah…you don’t really get sick from this, heh.” He blushes, pushing the tissue into Astral’s hand as his gaze darts down. “Just take care of your clothes, then.” 

“How about you?” Astral takes another one from his hands and mimics his actions, smoothing over his forehead and cheeks first. They hold tight when he jerks back. “Shush. Are you not feeling well? Your face is red.” 

“No! I’m fine!” He bites out. Astral chuckles at him, and somehow, the laughter gets him to relax, only rolling his eyes a bit when Astral continues to wipe his hair. 

The rest of the ride to the lodge is bumpy and not an ounce fastidious, the driver more cautious because of the rain coming down harder. Yuma complains only mildly over the weather. Astral knows he’s been wanting to trek with them to a handful of points within the territory, all places he’d last visited years ago as a young child with his father. Astral just barely thinks to smile reassuringly at him that it’s fine to push such plans back, much of their thoughts instead struggling to push back the urge to make this day  _ right _ , to see Yuma’s face light up at the sight of an unblocked sun. 

They rub his arm as he unhelpfully pouts. “I wanted to make this weekend special.” 

Once at their stop, one other party, made of three strangers, admit to having wanted to camp out as well, but as it is, all the passengers seem to agree that remaining inside the resting lodge is best. Out of everyone, Yuma seems to be the most reluctant to agree, which Astral doesn’t find surprising, but it’s a relief to see him have enough sense at this point to not scoff, “Well, it’s just rain!” 

Both of them reach the inner hall of the small building before Yuma turns back to the bus and stops. “Hey, old man! Let me help you with those!” 

“ _ What? _ ” The driver gapes, mildly offended, but it simmers to a bit of a pouty look when Yuma laughs his own jab off and takes it upon himself to assist with some of the extra baggage without waiting for an answer. 

Naturally, Astral eases into doing the same thing alongside him, taking enough in their arms and hands that the driver ends up gaping; Astral is able to easily take on enough of a load that the driver himself finds his hands entirely empty of anything else to help bring inside. 

Though efficient, the effort distracts and preoccupies Astral enough that they find themself prone and unable to stop Yuma from tripping over the uneven ground in his haste to bring the items inside. Yuma stumbles onto his stomach on the ground, the items scattering around him, though none break open, and a few of the other passengers, as well as one of the lodge staff, rush over to help him and the items back up. 

Yuma’s embarrassment is clear on his face, but he tries to hide it still, even grabbing a few of the bags closest to him and hefting those past the doorway. “I’m fine, I’m fine!” He laughs. 

By the looks of it, the only thing actually harmed this time is his pride, but Astral still checks with him once their arms are free, asking in a low voice, “ _ Are _ you alright?” 

“I told you, it was nothing!” 

Once those are settled and Astral is granted access to one of the rooms, the two of them carry their belongings there. It’s a small thing; no television or internet, predictably, and a toilet and shower head in one closet-like space. 

The windows show some lovely scenery, at least; or they would, Astral supposes, if the weather allowed for more brightness and visibility, and if the glass itself were cleaner. One bunk-bed sits listlessly at the corner. 

“ _ Ohh. _ ” The bags are propped against a wall, Yuma already eyeing the new sleeping arrangements. “I call top bunk!” 

The urge to stop him and check whether or not the earlier fall actually gave Yuma any injuries flares up briefly in Astral’s mind, but they release the thought, instead eyeing Yuma as he climbs the short ladder and makes it to the upper mattress, looking quite pleased with himself. 

“Will you hit your head against the ceiling?” 

“Ha, ha.” Yuma drawls. “The ceiling’s not that low.” 

“I’m never sure what you’re capable of.” Astral teases. They turn away, stooping and looking over the supplies the two of them brought for the trip. It does well to keep them busy; they wonder if Yuma will still want a sleeping bag in case it’s cold with the thin blanket each bed is provided, and if they’ll eat some of the packed food or if the lodge will provide anything at a low cost. 

It almost does the trick in distracting Astral from the uneasy recognition that even though they covered the inquiry as a joke, even the ceiling over both their heads had, however briefly, suddenly felt like a serious concern to them.

* * *

 

Yuma makes the monumental effort to wake up early – or at least earlier than he usually would on a day when he could sleep in – and the two of them are able to pay for a simple breakfast and eat it at the benches outside where a few lodgers are already settling in as well. 

Though the ground and greenery past the point where the lodge’s cover reaches are still damp from a night of rainfall, the day is clear, the sun shining and warm. Yuma chews over a map of the area, his fingers occasionally circling certain areas as though he has the power to draw on the paper with his skin to mark the sights. 

“This here is the rift my dad took me to when I was a kid.” He notes excitedly, rotating the map between the two of them to point at an area a bit far from here. 

Astral knew that it would be one of the points Yuma would want to share with them. “Is that where you nearly fell?” 

“It sure is.” He takes the reminder in stride; despite the sheepish smile he gives, he seems otherwise unperturbed at the memory. As though sensing what Astral is thinking, Yuma slides the map back to him beside his food, and says, “I was a kid and small. Even if it was dangerous, I don’t think my dad would have just thrown me into something that could really hurt me, you know? It’ll probably look different now that I’ve grown up than it did then!” 

Astral resists the urge to frown at Yuma’s words, pulling their train of thought away from Kazuma, and instead, they hum, “I’m not sure how much growing you actually did since then.” 

Besides the teasing and Yuma’s predictable sputters of objection, Astral allows him get on with things as he sees fit. 

At any rate, regardless, they can do more to look after him now, at least, than Kazuma ever could.

* * *

 

Given that the couple is staying for two days, they both take their time, making leisurely beelines to landmark after landmark that either Mirai recommended before they left or that are advertised at the front of the lodge. Still, Astral notices, Yuma leads them only to sites that are on-the-way to the cliff he wants to take them to. 

The landmarks in question are nothing too major; anything more grand than the scenery they’re already aiming towards would take a longer trek, maybe even another drive. Instead, they’re granted not high peaks or domes, but smaller treats: a large group of birdhouses, all made and painted by students during field trips as well as by many locals, a bed of flowers and other vegetation native only to this area, and the shabby ruins of what used to be an old lodge that had rumors of cheap hauntings attached to it. 

Yuma pauses to take in most of the delights that the couple pass, speaking to the birds only to be ignored until the two of them finally catch sight of the few packages of birdseed left with which to feed the creatures. He and Astral pluck one stem each from the field of flowers to wear with them the rest of the way, Astral’s flower tucked at their ear and Yuma’s wedged between the slits of his backpack’s front straps.  Astral sees the petals that clutter its stem bob as Yuma does, up and down, their boy skipping beneath the sun’s light and the trees’ shadows. 

They don’t know how they will one day tell Yuma this; how simultaneously strong and delicate he can, at many times, seem – perhaps just as the scenery around them is. He picks up the pace once the trees stand more dispersed, pulling the map from his bag’s sidepocket and following its directions with a new and somewhat more serious sense of purpose. 

Perhaps it is because of his preoccupation that a sudden dip in the ground beneath him takes him by surprise, and admittedly, Astral is startled as well. Yuma yelps, one moment feeling the ground slope gradually but steadily downward, and the next moment, one leg stumbles a foot deeper than his other. His balance lost, he falls completely, the paper fluttering from his hands, and he lands hard on his front, his knees and jaw making audible thuds on impact. 

Astral, lagging just steps behind him, rushes over. “Yuma!” 

“ _ Augh! _ ” He groans, not bothering to hide his hurt. Astral kneels and hovers over him as he slowly rolls to his side. “What the hell…!” 

“Easy.” Astral says, their hands hesitantly staying over his form as they take in his state. His legs and face are bleeding, as well as parts of his arms. They wonder if there’s any damage on his torso. “How bad does it hurt?” 

“Is my foot okay?” Yuma answers with the question instead, alarming Astral to the way Yuma tries not to move it as the rest of his body fidgets with the effort to bring himself less discomfort. He tries expressing, “I think I– landed on it wrong– something…” 

“It’s okay.” Astral comforts, and already, they feel the the air near their fingers vibrate with tension, the world around the two of them at once ready to abide by Astral’s mere will. They stop short just barely, realizing what they’re doing, and pause. 

Oddly, something like panic overtakes them, Astral suddenly very unsure of how to now proceed. Their mind tingles with the beginnings of an inner conflict that they’re aware is out of place at this moment. 

“H-Hey.” Yuma pulls them back from their thoughts, addressing Astral with a mildly surprising amount of calm that’s heard clearly even through the whine in his voice. Astral’s gaze flies from his wounds to his face, his eyes searching for theirs and locking onto them. Wryly, he manages to smile, one meant to comfort than to convey any sort of good feeling; a smile for Astral’s sake. “Listen, can you get this bag off me? I told you I know how to pack.” 

Astral is stumped, staring from him to the bag he’s been weakly trying to pry from his shoulders.  _ Pack?  _ Yes, Yuma packed, along with Astral’s assistance and ready instruction. The two of them brought medicine, gauze, salve. Exhaling, Astral slowly does as Yuma asked, gently moving him to a sitting position, being careful to not aggravate what might be a more serious injury to his foot, before helping the bag off him. 

The process, as simple as it is and as savvy as the two of them are on how to proceed, feels heavy. For Yuma, it’s because of the pain. For Astral, it because of the uncertainty, the  _ knowledge _ that they have on what they could do, with a snap of their fingers, to heal what just happened in the blink of an eye – and if they wished, Yuma would not even know later on. 

The power of it all, with the sight of Yuma hurt and grimacing before them, weighs on Astral, but they allow themself to be distracted from enacting what feels like the easy thing to do. Almost on automatic, they help Yuma instead, and as they do, they become more aware of the way he moves and handles the first-aid kit and other tools, and how they themself handle things as well. Yuma knows to disinfect the areas that were most scraped and torn by the fall, and as he works to rub his arms with alcohol, Astral does the same for his knees. 

They work mostly in silence. Yuma makes short comments as he’s bangaged. “That was stupid.” He mutters, obviously irate but holding a tone of levity nonetheless. “Really smarts.” 

Vaguely, Astral registers that Yuma waits for them to respond in some way, either with light scolding or even some smart remark on his misstep – but Astral stays silent, their mind cluttered, and the only thing quieting it down at the moment is the effort they put into efficiently patching Yuma up. 

By the time Astral is wrapping up Yuma’s ankle and foot, Yuma stopped speaking, not minding too much how solemn Astral’s become due to being quite preoccupied himself, mentally and physically. He grits his teeth and whines, but makes no other coherent complaint as Astral works, which, honestly, they are grateful for. They aren’t sure if they’d still be able to hold back the urge they still have even now, after all the effort, to simply take away all the pain Yuma’s having if he would openly express enough suffering. 

Once Yuma is successfully slumped on the ground with gauze and patches wrapped and scattered all over him, he allows himself a few well-earned simpers, and Astral sits with him, most of the tension having left them, replaced by worry that is, at the very least, less than what they felt moments before. They can almost convince themself that they would never have done what they almost made happen, no matter how tempting it could have been had Yuma not pulled himself together so quickly. 

“This sucks.” Yuma finally summarizes. “Now what do we do?” 

Astral frowns, knowing what Yuma’s thoughts are even without the bond. They reply with the logical answer, the one they, naturally, consider first. Their voice is flat with an impression of tiredness – not at the actions from today, but from the inner battle they aren’t even sure if they would admit to Yuma yet. “We should head back. I know this meant a lot to you, but accidents happen. We can come back anytime.” 

“But we’re already so close!” Yuma gripes, then curses. He raises a fist as though to strike the ground, but thankfully, thinks better of it, and lets his fist fall limply. “I fucked up.” At this, he sounds closer to tears than he had from the actual injury and the treatment afterwards. 

Astral is tugged more from the cloud they made for themself, their mind rising more back to reality at the face of Yuma’s sadness. “You didn’t fuck up.” Astral comforts, rarely cursing but figuring that not only does Yuma need the reassurance, but that repeating his own cussing to him might bring a smile to his face. 

He laughs, but it’s a huffed sound, his smile barely there before it leaves. “Maybe it’s something about this place.” He grasps. Tears break through and flow down his cheeks, and he is quick to rub them away, risking tearing off a bandage on his face. Astral reaches up and stops that movement, catching his wrist and moving to hold his hand, but it doesn’t deter him from crying. “I fucked up the first time I came here, and now I, like, have to be saved  _ again? _ ” 

“No.” Astral denies before they can even think about it. But as the objection slips, other thoughts follow, as though spilling from a well inside them that wants to wash Yuma’s despairings away. “You were a child when you came here the first time, and it was normal of you to be scared of something so high and unsteady.” They have witnessed the memory that Yuma’s kept close to his heart many times, of the day when his father had given him a precious gift – a mere word that symbolizes hope and perseverance. “And today, we had an accident. It’s not your fault. We’ll watch our step next time. Yuma,” they coo, their thumb rubbing at his cheeks gently, “stop crying.” 

“S-Sorry…” He mumbles, though Astral isn’t sure what he’s saying sorry for, only recognizing that he isn’t using the word as just a form of expression. They continue to hold and stroke him, fingers and palms rubbing up and down and in circles as though kneading the sobs out of him.  “I just– I just wanted to show you, y-you know? It’s–… This is just important…” 

“I know.” Astral says.

It’s been clear since the moment Yuma suggested the two of them come here together. Rather than any concrete reason, Astral knows that Yuma’s intentions are more emotional than anything, stemming from an urge that’s blossomed from his heart. The memory Yuma had here has continued to impact him throughout his life, the lesson he learned that day when he was a child affecting how he handled the two of them meeting and growing closer together along with the rest of their friends later on. 

Astral, despite not having even met Yuma yet all those years ago, has become an integral part of that memory, the zeal he gained back then leading to the path he walks with Astral years after. 

More, still, Yuma wanted this day to give the two of them new memories to share together. Despite that Yuma’s first trip here with his father ended as a positive experience rather than a bad one, there was no doubt a possibility that Yuma would have walked away from this place with more fear instead. Coming here with Astral, ideally, is supposed to have consisted of a happier, easier journey. There weren’t even plans to do any climbing as Kazuma had pulled him into trying before. 

Astral lifts their face and chin, regarding Yuma with a clearer mind. Their voice finally firm once more, they suggest, “Let’s keep going.” 

Yuma tries to pause his crying. “Huh?” 

“I’ll just carry you.” Astral clarifies, then quickly goes on. “There’s no arguing with that. We can go back, or keep going to the cliff and leave when we’re ready, but either way, I’m carrying you.” They don’t think he will mind anyway, in this state, especially if it means Astral will support him in this one wish to revisit a special place with his new lover. “It’s up to you. It will be fine to turn back now and come back later, when you’re feeling better. But if you want, Yuma, I can help us get there now.” 

There is almost no point in even asking. Astral knows the answer before they even ask it. Yuma stares back at them, not quite grasping what Astral is giving to him right away, but when he does, his eyes light up once more, the smile more genuine, coming from inside him. “R-Really?” 

“Of course.” Maybe this is how they could tell him, at least partly, without words – that they’d be willing to do near anything to make him happy, that they were willing to bend all life to their will just to appease his, but that, in the end, they can do things in this way as well: treat Yuma’s wounds with shared effort instead of the universe’s very code, and create memories that shine even from misfortune rather than outright erase unpleasantries before trying for something better. They smile and cup his neck, leaning close and encouraging. “Well? Do you feel up to it?” 

“I-I want to keep going…!” He cheers, the remnants of his sobbing making it a keen. Astral smiles wider at the sound and his brightening expression. “Not walking is going to suck! But we’re so close, Astral!” 

“Let’s put these back and take them with us.” Astral instructs first, collecting the items that were left beside the pair while they were working on Yuma and placing them in a somewhat organized fashion back inside his bag. “I know we’re close and could probably leave it, but let’s not take chances.” 

Yuma agrees, helping them and making quick work of the chore. He still grits his teeth as he moves in certain ways, partly from his foot and partly from the bruise that had bloomed near his stomach, but he pushes himself to adjust in Astral’s arms while keeping his bag to him, one of his shoes now inside it as well. 

Astral doesn’t have trouble making it the rest of the way, and they reach their destination while the sun just begins to descend. It is not quite like the cloudy and windy day they’ve glimpsed in Yuma’s memory, and, as Yuma guessed, the bottom of the chasm that Kazuma had challenged him to climb up from could be seen from the top, as opposed to the bottomless impression Yuma’s kept of it all these years. 

In a way, it did work out to Yuma’s expectations, the path that the pair had chosen to take differing from where Kazuma had led Yuma before and, in all, proving to be a smoother route; though, with Yuma, Astral perhaps ought to have expected there to be stumbling blocks along the way. It’s just the messy sort of lifestyle that he’s always led, a kind that he’s taught Astral to live by as well. 

Astral settles the two of them not quite close to the edge, but facing it, the sky above growing warmer in color. Yuma takes their hand and keeps it between the two of them, gawking into the distance before turning and meeting their gaze once more. 

* * *

 

Looking as though nothing could be more perfect than this, he smiles. 

 


End file.
